Page 116 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
I stand and start pacing. Through the bedroom, down the hall, into the living room where Harper and I watched movies lastnight. Where she curled into my side and told me she loved me. Was that really just yesterday? And now she needs space.
Finn emerges from his room, takes one look at my face, and retreats back without a word. Smart man.
I pull out my phone and call Sirus. It rings four times before going to voicemail.
"Sirus, it's Cole. Call me back. Please."
I try again. Same result.
He's probably with Harper and Maddie, listening to them talk through everything, being the supportive ear I should be if I wasn't the one who fucked everything up.
I can't stay here. Every corner of this place has Harper in it. Her favorite mug in the kitchen. Her books on the shelf. The throw blanket she bought because mine weren't "cozy enough." The dent in the couch cushion where she always sits.
I grab my keys and leave before the walls can close in completely.
I drive with no destination in mind. Through campus, past the arena, down streets I don't recognize. The city blurs past my windows, streetlights creating halos in the darkness.
I should go to Maddie's. Knock on the door, tell Harper I'm sorry, beg her to come home. But she asked for space. Andafter everything—after fighting Liam at a party, after proving I'm exactly the kind of guy who loses his shit and throws punches—maybe space is what I deserve.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. What did Liam say to her in that hallway? What could he possibly have that would make Harper look at me with that expression, like she didn't know who I was anymore?
It's only a matter of time before you see his true colors.
What the fuck does that even mean?
Before I realize where I'm going, I'm pulling into the parking lot of a liquor store. The neon sign buzzes overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.
I sit in the truck for a long moment, engine running, debating. This is a terrible idea. I should go home, sleep it off, deal with everything with a clear head in the morning.
But the thought of going back to that empty house makes me physically ill.
I kill the engine and go inside.
The fluorescent lights are too bright, making my black eye throb worse. I walk down the aisles until I find what I'm looking for—a bottle of whiskey that Liam and I used to split after particularlybrutal games freshman year. Before everything got complicated he was my boy.
The irony isn't lost on me as I pay for it.
In the parking lot, I take out my phone and snap a picture of the bottle sitting on my passenger seat. I send it to Liam.
Me:Peace offering?
The response comes almost immediately.
Liam:Fuck off.
Me:We really need to talk.
I stare at my phone, waiting for those three dots to turn into actual words, but they disappear. He's not going to respond.
Me:Fine. You come here.
I send him my address.
Liam:(Laughing emoji)
That's it. A laughing emoji. Like this is all a fucking joke to him.
I throw my phone onto the passenger seat and drive home in silence, the bottle of whiskey rattling every time I take a turn too fast.
